


Night's Passage

by TheGoldenGhost



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mostly intimate discussions, Yeah this is just ridiculous cute stuff, and mild flirting, by two men with no idea of how to actually flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenGhost/pseuds/TheGoldenGhost
Summary: It can certainly get cold in the Antarctic. How better to stave it off than by getting into deep conversation with a very mysterious sea captain?





	Night's Passage

            The Antarctic was cold, but I wasn’t about to let a little thing like chill keep me from my work. By day I ventured with Conseil, while by night I sat up in the salon making notes and shivering. Mostly shivering. The air outside was -28 °C, but inside the Nautilus it was a lovely and warm 13 °C. I kept my sealskin coat on constantly.

            Nemo was on a couch opposite me, staring out the portal window, lost in thought. His face had an expression I didn’t commonly associate with him; one of passive contentment. His eyes, usually so alert and quick to take in every detail of his surroundings, were calm and sleepy. He didn’t seem to notice me. I stole glances at him every once in a while, making a quick sketch of him alongside my notes. It was so rare to see him reposed and to get such an opportunity for capture.

            This went on for several minutes until I tried to catch a look at him and almost dropped my pen – he was watching me. But he wasn’t annoyed or aloof; rather, he looked amused, soft-eyed. “What are you doing over there, Professor?”

            “Just compiling my notes from today’s excursion.”

            “May I see?” He rose, and I shut my notebook quickly and put my elbow on the cover, leaning my chin on my hand so that he couldn’t take it.

            “What, this? No, you don’t want to see this. Maybe some of my earlier loose notes on the composition of the ice shelf? If you’ll give me a moment I’ll go get them –“ I broke off when he put his hand lightly on the cover of the notebook.

            “I want to see this one. I’m sure whatever you’ve written is marvelous.”

            “Oh, no, not very,” I replied weakly. “It’s silliness. You’ll probably think me a novice, or worse.”

            “Ah, nonsense,” he said, and I relented, letting him take the book and solemnly flip through the pages. I prayed he wouldn’t get to the last one, but of course, he did. I memorized the grain of the desk, unable to look up and meet his eyes. But when I did, I was surprised to see him smiling at me, his eyes sparkling.

            “You’re a talented artist,” he replied simply, returning the book. “I’ve hardly seen such skill. I’m not much good, myself,” he crossed the room again, reclining on the couch in a casual way. “Then again, I didn’t have much training in the visual arts. I mostly studied music, as you know.”

            “I know,” I said. My relief that he wasn’t offended by my presumption was palpable, and I came over to sit beside him, quite content now that I knew we were on good terms.

            “My wife, on the other hand –“ Nemo went on, and then stopped short. I waited for him to go on. It didn’t surprise me that he was married – had been married, when he was on land. He was a handsome man, wealthy and well-educated. I hadn’t really expected him to be a bachelor. I had often wondered, though, what had become of her. Had she died, or was she still waiting for him in some distant land, hoping for his safe return? Did she know he was alive?

            “Well?” I asked, at length, when he didn’t speak again.

            “Never mind, I –“

            “No, I want to hear about it. What was she like?”

            “Well… she could draw,” he said. “Like you. Except her style was… different, I don’t know how to describe it. You see things as they are, as a naturalist should. Whereas she saw things as they _could_ be. I think she was something of an impressionist.”

            I smiled. “Do you have any of her work? I’d like to see it,” there were dozens of paintings in the museum that I couldn’t place in terms of the artist. I wondered if any of them were hers.

            “No,” he said quietly. “Most of them were destroyed or lost. I wish I still had them. Although I do have one – “ he glanced towards his room. “Come with me, sir. I’ll show you.”

            The far wall of his room had a portrait of a young woman and two children. I looked at him curiously, and he nodded. The woman was holding one of the children on her lap while the other posed calmly beside her. The older child couldn’t have been more than three or four, the younger one practically a baby. I could see the older one was a little girl. The younger one, I wasn’t certain of, and I asked the captain.

            “Two girls,” he said. “My daughters.”

            “They’re lovely. All of them,” I told him, and they were. The woman’s face was round, her hair long and black and her skin several shades darker than Nemo’s. Her eyes were lighter, though, a warm brown like polished bronze. Her expression was kind and loving as she looked down at the baby on her lap. The older girl had her father’s eyes, black and expressive. It was hard to tell on a face so young, but she looked rather like him in many ways, in the shape of her nose and forehead. She was looking out at the viewer of the portrait with the same calm regard I’d seen so often in Nemo. The baby was reaching out towards her sister. She seemed happy, but I supposed most babies were.

            I studied them for several minutes, making my observations. The captain was silent beside me and after a while I glanced at his face. He was gazing at them with such pride and love that I quickly looked away, feeling a twinge of envy and resenting myself for it.

            “Are they – are they looking for you?” I asked hesitantly, and his expression faded into one of desolation. He didn’t reply, and didn’t need to. I touched his shoulder lightly, and he sighed, turning to go back into the salon.

            I followed him out and we returned to the couch. The night outside was dark, full of stars in the southern sky. If it had been warmer, I would have suggested going out to the platform to get a better look, but as it was, I was chilly even in the salon. Nemo noticed this and briefly left the room, returning with a blanket that he draped around my shoulders. “Is that better?” he asked.

            “Yes, much,” I said. It wasn’t, but it did take the edge off. However, he surprised me again by sitting so close that I could feel the warmth of his body next to mine. “You aren’t cold?” I asked in surprise.

            He looked over, half-smiling. “I hardly ever feel the cold, sir. Or the heat.”

            “Oh, you don’t, do you? Are you perhaps some sort of spirit? One of the ocean gods the Greeks wrote about in their myths? Or maybe a ghost from some far and distant land?”

            He took my hand in his. He was warm to the touch against my own icy fingers. “Do I feel like a ghost? Or a spirit?”

            “I’m not sure,” I remarked. “Perhaps I could get a better sense…” Hardly believing my own courage, I reached out and touched his face. His eyes widened in surprise, and I felt a thrill of astonishment myself when he didn’t draw back but simply closed his eyes, briefly leaning into my touch.

            His eyes blinked open a moment later and I drew my hand back. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly.

            “For what?”

            I shook my head, bewildered, and he smiled, watching me with the softest expression I’d seen from him yet. I didn’t know what to do, with him looking at me like that, so I stammered; “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t _think_ you’re a ghost.”

            He paused for a moment, and then laughed, a warm and quiet sound. I felt a sudden rush of affection for him, so strong that it surprised me, and I wondered if I dared to do what I so wanted to do; to take him in my arms and pull him close to me, hold him there for the whole night and let tomorrow bring what it would.

            I didn’t, and after a minute we were back to comfortable silence. He was the one who broke it. “Do you have children, Professor?”

            “No, sir,” I replied. I’d wanted them, in truth. But marriage – well, it wasn’t something I had really looked for in my life. I would have been gratified to be a father, but a husband… no. I had my reasons. I dreaded to think he might guess them, though.

            “You’re not married at all, are you?”

            “No, never married. My work was always the most important. And as for companionship and support, I have Conseil.”

            He nodded. “And… for love? You have Conseil for that, too?”

            My face burned; so he _had_ guessed, but – he didn’t seem bothered by it, just curious. “No, sir! Conseil is my assistant, formerly my student, and no matter what you may have heard about the behaviors of some professors, I would never –“

            “No, sir, I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply anything against your character,” he replied calmly. “I just thought it strange that a man like you would have no use for any such thing. After all, you’re intelligent, compassionate. Handsome, too.” My heart skipped a beat, but he was speaking as in scientific observation. There was no intent behind his words; they were simply – facts.

            Well, since he was prying, so could I. “Did you love your wife?” I asked. “Or was that just a marriage of convenience?”

            His eyes grew sad. “I adored her. But for what it’s worth, yes, she was an honorable companion as well. Not unlike your Conseil.”

            I felt another annoying twinge of envy, this one stronger than the first, and I didn’t know what to do about this. I tried to keep my voice level as I replied; “I hope fortune finds you another companion then, sir, just as honorable as the first.”

            His eyes narrowed a fraction as he watched me, trying to puzzle me out. I stared out the window and gave away nothing. At last he pulled forward and I thought for one startling moment that he was going to kiss me. I drew back, nearly panicking, but he simply adjusted the blanket more securely around my shoulders and stood up. “It’s late,” he said gently. “And I expect we’ll be moving out early tomorrow, so it’s best you got some rest before then. Goodnight, Professor. I’ll see you shortly.” With that he left, closing the door to his room.

            I sat for a while, lost in thoughts and imaginings. It was only when the chill came back that I realized just how warm I’d been when he was near me.

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered if Aronnax knew more about Nemo's family. The text doesn't indicate that he did, but in my mind, if it was going to happen, it would probably be something like this.
> 
> Also; yes, his daughters were older at the time of their deaths than they appear in the portrait. But the portrait was painted a few years earlier, and young children grow and change rather quickly.


End file.
